Two Swords Clashed
by ButterflyBabyBlue
Summary: Ghirahim is not in the least bit happy to serve House Smith for a year in penance. He certainly wasn't eager to part from his home, the people who'd looked after him until this point. And he most definitely loathe at the thought of living alongside Lord Smith's arrogant, isolated spoiled son, Link. /Medieval AU, eventual Ghiralink
1. Caught

**Two Swords Clashed**

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here is my newest Ghiralink fanfic, with it's currently working-title. To be brief, this is a medieval-type AU focusing on Ghirahim and Link primarily. My OCs Ardaia and Rynae feature in places. Here's hoping that you all enjoy it! Please tell me what you think!**

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><p><em>Chapter 1: Caught<em>

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><p>"<em>Caught<em>," he repeated for what must have been the millionth time.

The word was a curse, an omen, in Ghirahim's view. The word that cut him off from his sole chance at freedom. The word that announced his doom, sealed his fate.

"That's right," a rough voice answered him. Ghirahim glared up at the bulky man who held one of his bare arms with one massive fist. He received a cruel smirk in return. "Not many of you last more than a month. But you somehow managed to stay hidden for no less than a year."

"You couldn't leave me alone for just another day?" Ghirahim growled, reluctantly allowing himself to be pulled down the crowded streets. No one made any move to help Ghirahim, instead choosing to duck out of sight, keeping their heads down. All dressed in clothes that were either too big or, in most cases, far too small, all scattering into rundown houses that looked as if a gust of wind would knock them down. Ghirahim knew some of them, had eaten with a rare few. But they didn't meet his eye as he cast his sullen, dark-eyed gaze at them.

"_You_ should know how the law works," his captor accused. "All you can really do now is congratulate yourself on a job well done."

"Obviously it wasn't done well enough," Ghirahim muttered. He glanced down at his clothes and grimaced. White wool had turned to a dull grey a long time ago, and his makeshift scarlet cape, the ends tattered, was riddled with patches. His once-pale feet were dirtied and calloused, but he had grown used to walking barefoot. The cobblestone pavement felt familiar, but this trip was not one he wanted to be taking. Especially not in the company of someone as rude as this man!

"My lord should be _very_ pleased with the newest addition to his staff," he commented, and Ghirahim scowled.

"Like he really needed another person to slave away for him."

He was shaken roughly, and his feet were dragged forcefully along the pavement. Ghirahim hissed, righting himself before any damage was done.

"You ought to learn some manners," the man warned. He stroked his thick beard with his free hand. "However hard that might seem."

"Says the man who took my gloves and the change in my pocket. I never got your name, either."

Another shake. "Garwin. Not that it really matters. Now be quiet."

Ghirahim did as he was told and kept his mouth shut from then on, humming quietly as they walked and glancing around at what he could see. Noise filled the streets; merchants shouting about how good their produce was, how cheaply it was selling for, the shrieks of young children chasing each other with sticks. The strong smell of whiskey and the laughter of some drunkards drifted from the window of one building, while the scent of baked goods and warm pastries came from the opposite end of the street. Ghirahim had a feeling he was going to miss it. Unless he found a way to escape his predicament, he'd be working for the rest of his life.

With that in mind, Ghirahim spent the last few minutes of their walk taking in as much as he could. Compared to spending a year working for these so-called '_noblemen'_, living in this shambled area seemed like it would be absolute paradise.

"Take a last look at your precious '_home_'," Garwin sneered.

"A walled town," Ghirahim muttered, almost to himself. "Not exactly wonderful, but I'll miss it."

"Oh, get over it, would you?" Garwin chided him. "One year is all you've got to work. Although now that I think about it, it's longer than most have."

"At least I have something to be _proud_ of, then," Ghirahim spat. "It certainly doesn't improve my bad mood, though. I'll be in the fields after the year is up."

"You've got that right. It'll do you some good, get your attitude in control."

"I think these rules are absolutely horrible."

"Well, I'd advise you against being this open in front of Lord Smith," Garwin warned. "His son wouldn't be too pleased, either."

Ghirahim was half-listening, looking into the window of a small toy shop when he locked eyes with a short child no more than ten years old. Dressed in scruffy clothes much like his own, he stared at Ghirahim from his position in the alleyway, between the shoemakers and a bakery, and lifted his left hand, splaying his fingers. Ghirahim gave him a curt nod in return. To anyone else, it was just a silent greeting, a simple sign of acknowledgement. But not to them. The child turned and ran into the shaded alley, not bothering to look back. Ghirahim could only hope that the boy would be able to run quickly enough to deliver his message in good time.

Ghirahim was turned away from the street then, and he and Garwin resumed their walk. Ghirahim sighed, taking one last peek over his shoulder at the streets he'd darted about in for so long.

"I nearly forgot about Lord Smith's son," he said absently, eyes flickering toward the sky. "Is he as arrogant as I've heard?"

Garwin wasted no time in shaking Ghirahim again. "Link is a fine young man. Sixteen or seventeen, about your age. His father is very proud of him."

"Oh, I can only _imagine_," Ghirahim muttered. Children that grew up surrounded by wealth were always the worst, always ignorant and so demanding.

They turned a sharp corner and Ghirahim let out his breath in a low whistle.

Much as he hated the man, Ghirahim had to admit that the lord of the Faron province did have good taste. He owned more than enough land, and had enough wealth that he could fill it. Surrounded by tall fencing and massive gates, he lived in a building that was too small to be a palace but far too large to be called a mansion. Pristine white all over, with pale green roof-tiles and tower-tops. A field specially for growing the best crops Ghirahim had ever laid eyes on, and another one for livestock. A path lined with white and red roses led the way to the front doors, dark mahogany brought from Faron Woods.

They approached the gate, and Garwin quickly explained their presence to the nearest pair of guards. Both were dressed in silver and green attire, with the symbol of the goddess Hylia, the Triforce, adorning the breastplates of their armour. One of them gave a shout to a pair inside the gates, and within seconds, a group of six men were pulling them open for the new arrivals. Ghirahim grimaced as he stepped forward, into noble territory.

Garwin seemed far more comfortable inside these gates, where he knew he belonged. It was a long walk to the front doors, and Ghirahim grew more uncomfortable with every step.

"A new member of staff," Garwin said to the pair of guards at the doors. They each gave Ghirahim a smile, not ones that Ghirahim would call friendly.

"How long was this one free?" the one standing to the left asked.

"No less than a year," Garwin replied.

The one on the right made a noise of astonishment. "So this must be Ghirahim, then. I didn't think we'd ever catch up to _him_."

Ghirahim frowned, eyes narrowing in immediate suspicion. "How do you know my name?"

Garwin glared down at him. "Don't you speak until you're spoken to." He returned his attention to the two guards. "You'd be right in saying that this little scoundrel is the infamous Ghirahim."

"Lord Smith will have to keep a tight watch on him, then."

"He'd better. This one vanished inside a walled town; he could be trouble in a place like this."

Ghirahim scoffed, rolling his eyes as the guards went about pushing the doors open.

"Here we go," said Garwin gruffly. Ghirahim took a deep breath, scowling.

"...Here we go."

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><p>Link tried not to slouch where he stood in the entrance hall, all gleaming silver and green like the rest of the house. He glanced down at his reflection, bright blue eyes meeting his bored gaze. The fabric of his pale green coat was a little uncomfortable against his white shirt, buttoned right the way up. He flicked a loose strand of dirty blond hair from his line of vision, trying to stand up as straight as the man standing next to him.<p>

His father was a man that radiated authority and demanded respect. Although he had more grey hairs than blond, he was still a formidable man, with a steely gaze that sent people running. He wore the same clothes he so often did when greeting his new members of staff, dark green over white, the Triforce embroidered neatly onto the front.

"Do we really have to do this again?" Link asked, breaking the silence. He didn't take his eyes from the front doors, where a pair of guards stood eerily still, their spears close by.

"Of course," his father replied. His voice was deep, and not one that left room for exceptions. "It's customary. It's the law."

"I know that," Link muttered. "But this is the third time this _week_ I've had to stand here and greet them. I could be reading."

"You'll understand better when you're older."

Link huffed. He'd heard _that_ one a million times before, that everything would be much clearer in the future, that he would make a fine lord someday.

He smiled when he heard the familiar mewing of his tiny Remlit, Cyra. The palest of browns, she wound her way between his boots, striped tail swishing contentedly. Her large round ears twitched as she sniffed around curiously, investigating.

The guards stepped out of their positions as the wooden doors swung open to admit Garwin, towing along the newest addition. Link sighed, wishing he could return to his reading. It was only when Garwin came within a few feet of Link and his father that Link saw just how unusual the new addition really was.

He stood as straight as Link's father did, an accomplishment in itself; his chin tilted upward ever so slightly as he smiled confidently –though in saying that, his smile never reached beyond those thin lips. White hair that had once been clean covered one side of his face, concealing his left eye. His remaining eye was sharp and deep brown in colour, sweeping past Link to instead observe the décor. His skin was pale, underneath all of that grime. It was his attire that stood out most to Link, white woollen clothes that came just short of clinging to him. Link thought he saw some small bumps just under the fabric, but it could have been anything caught out on the streets. Something that looked like a cape hung from his shoulders, with a deep hood and plenty of patches. He went barefoot, too, and Link wondered whether he was uncomfortable with not even a pair of socks to wear.

"Not a bad place you have here," he remarked, his voice surprisingly smooth. Link raised his eyebrows in surprise; no one emever/em spoke before his father. Until now, it seemed. Risking a glance at his father, he saw the man was just as surprised, and most definitely irritated. He cleared his throat pointedly, and the white-haired teenager offered him another faint smile.

"Remove any weapons you are carrying," Lord Smith ordered.

In regards to weapons, Link didn't expect much, since Garwin usually took what he found in everybody's pockets, and most didn't have a lot to give up anyways. But this was a different story, it seemed. As Link had suspected, there were some things hiding up this person's sleeves. With an ease that told Link the gesture was practiced, he brandished a small blade. The tiny handle was no more than a stub, while the blade was incredibly flat and frighteningly sharp. The next came from the other sleeve, similar to the first but not quite as polished.

He wasn't finished, though. Lifting one leg almost daintily, he produced another from the inside of his trousers before slipping another from the other side. Link couldn't help grinning as he reached back into his hood and revealed another. The last slipped out from underneath his yellow sash. He bent gracefully at the waist, laying out each knife in front of his muddied feet.

"I'm fairly sure that's all I was carrying," he said casually. "But you can feel free to check for more if you want."

Garwin glared fiercely at him, and Link's father looked quite taken aback at the manner of this peasant. Link himself couldn't force his smile away. When the snowy-haired male met his gaze, Link tried not to grin at the mischievous wink he was offered. This commoner was -surprisingly enough- quite amusing.

"What is your name?" Lord Smith asked curtly.

"My lord, it's-"

"_I_ am the one they call Ghirahim," the peasant interrupted Garwin, his tone brimming with self-confidence.

Immediately, six spears were pointed at his throat.

Link supressed a noise of surprise at the sudden hostility –well, at the sudden rise in hostility. If Ghirahim was frightened or startled in any way, he didn't show it. He merely flicked a strand of hair out of the way and never let his smile falter.

"I had a surname once," he continued, "but it's been a while since I've had to use it, and I've forgotten it."

"… I see. And I am Lord-"

"Oh, there's no need; I already know who _you_ are," Ghirahim interrupted with a smile. Link winced when Garwin shoved him so hard that Ghirahim actually dropped to his knees, scuffing them on the small knives. His unnervingly pleasant expression hardly faltered in front of Link's father, who stared at the thin youth with open dislike. The spears had followed him, pointed in exactly the same way as before. However, after a brief few seconds of terrible silence, Ghirahim picked himself up with as much dignity as was possible in a situation like this and fixed Link and his father with another smile, seemingly oblivious to the weapons aimed at him. In all the time he'd been standing in this hall, Link did not recall anyone stepping through these doors with a smile on their face. At least, not anyone who didn't belong to a wealthy House.

With only the slightest show of discomfort, Ghirahim adjusted his posture, positioned himself properly and cleared his throat. The red stains that were forming about his knees didn't appear to faze him in the least. Link couldn't figure him out at all; he was like some sort of actor, so casual about everything; and in front of a man like his father, too! That took real nerve.

"And tell me, how long were you free, Ghirahim?" Lord Smith asked.

"No more than a year," Ghirahim said proudly.

Link gaped unashamedly; no one had ever arrived here that had lasted more than seven months. Ghirahim had only one day before he was a free man, but it seemed that hope was to be forgotten now. Link had to admire that feat, though. Staying hidden in a walled town like this was surely no easy task, and Link couldn't ever imagine being able to do it himself.

"In that case," Lord Smith said, "you will serve my House for no less than and no more than a year. You will work every day without fail until the day of your release. You will then be moved to the neighbouring crop fields, where you will remain for the rest of your life, and you will do this without trouble or complaint. Are we perfectly clear?"

"Of course," Ghirahim said smoothly. "Working is just fine for me, though not being able to complain is a little… _restricting_. Nevertheless, I'll do my best."

Link didn't think Garwin could seem any more disapproving. It was hard to resist snickering at the bearded man's outraged expression.

"You will begin working immediately," Link's father instructed. "You'll receive a hot meal at six o'clock in the kitchens, and you will then continue to work until the hour of ten. Another worker can show you to your room."

"A hot meal, hmm," Ghirahim mused. "That will be nice."

He was given another shove from Garwin, though not as rough as the first. Link watched as Garwin reached down and scooped up the six knives in one meaty fist, before grabbing Ghirahim by the shoulder.

"I'll take him to the kitchens, my lord, and put him to work," he assured, with a hasty bow. He waited for Ghirahim to do the same, and when he caught him staring into space, he forced him into an awkward bow before pulling him down the nearest corridor on Link's right.

When they were out of sight, Link glanced at his father to see if he could figure out what the man was thinking. Link himself didn't know whether his annoyance or amusement was winning over the other. He didn't recall anyone behaving in this way toward someone of such high class. It was only now that Link noticed Ghirahim had not once addressed his father as even 'my Lord'. Just who did he think he was?

"What do you think?" Link asked carefully.

"He's trouble," Lord Smith replied coldly. "Anyone who can evade capture for that long is bound to be problematic."

Link shrugged indifferently. He thought Ghirahim was unusual, but someone who looked like he knew how to have a little fun. Cyra circled impatiently around his heels, bumping her head against his legs insistently. He smiled down at her.

"I'm going to my rooms," Link announced, breaking the brief silence that had fallen. When his father said nothing, he took off in the direction of his quarters without another word.

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><p>"Never in my <em>life<em> have I seen such behaviour," Garwin growled. "How could you even think to speak like that?"

Ghirahim shrugged one shoulder, looking around at the heavy curtains and paintings in gilded frames and all of the other fineries that were to be seen. Vases on small wooden tables lined the hallway they walked down, a plush carpet underneath his feet.

"I didn't really have to think," Ghirahim said absently, trying to ignore the stinging pain at his knees. "That's the way I've always spoken to people."

"Well, you ought to go about fixing that."

Ghirahim huffed, wishing Garwin's grip on his shoulder wasn't quite so tight. The man was awfully rude for one who talked of having decent manners.

After turning a corner or two, they reached a pair of smaller doors, and Ghirahim felt his stomach growl when the familiar scent of baking hit him. Even with the doors closed, there was plenty of noise to be heard from the kitchen, the clanging of pots and the chatter of chefs and spit boys all came together in one large racket.

"You'll have to get changed out of those things," Garwin said as they approached. "Can't have you walking around without shoes, either."

"What will happen to the clothes I'm wearing now?" Ghirahim asked, horrified at the thought of giving them up now. They'd been earned, given to him only after a lot of hard work. Even if they'd been damaged beyond repair, he would hold onto them.

"Most people just dispose of theirs," Garwin told him. "Though I suppose you have some sort of policy that means you've got to keep them?"

"I've just grown fond of them, is all. Can't I keep them in my room? Under my pillow or someplace else?"

"I don't _think_ anyone would object to it," Garwin said reluctantly. Ghirahim really did not like this man.

Then a pair of giant doors were pushed open, and Ghirahim was introduced to the bustling world of the kitchen. All he could make out through the steam were people of all kinds rushing about and shouting; it was a hub of commotion. And it was terribly stuffy, compared with the breezy streets outside. Ghirahim took it all in with curious eyes, scanning the different areas of the room with interest. He'd never been in a room with so much food, so much of it being cooked, in his life.

"Go and ask someone to find you a uniform," Garwin ordered him. "Hopefully I won't be seeing much of you anymore."

"Nice knowing you," Ghirahim muttered with a scowl. Garwin left, the doors slamming behind him and leaving Ghirahim to find his way around.

Slipping around and avoiding a run-in with anyone, he weaved his way through the onslaught of workers, nicking a piece of bread as he passed. He soon found that the kitchen was a massive area, each section as busy as the next. Dinnertime wasn't too far off, so Ghirahim figured there was reason enough for all of this bustle.

"What are you doing in here?" a booming voice asked from behind him. Still chewing on a crust of bread, Ghirahim turned to address who'd spoken. A round man in a greasy white apron and hat leered down at Ghirahim, beads of sweat lining his forehead.

"As I understand," Ghirahim said, gulping down the last of the bread, "I'm to work here until the hour of ten."

"A newcomer," the chef groaned. He looked about him before jabbing a finger at an unassuming worker stirring a pot full to the brim with potatoes. "You!"

The boy jumped and turned on his heel, darting over to the chef. "Yes, sir?"

"Find a uniform for this one," the chef replied, giving Ghirahim a push so he could join the boy. "Be quick about it!"

The boy started off without even checking to see if Ghirahim was following. Luckily, Ghirahim was more than accustomed to walking at a brisk pace, and he kept up with ease. They reached a small storeroom at the very back of the kitchen.

"You can find a uniform in here," the boy said quietly, so much so that Ghirahim strained to hear him over the rest of the noise. He didn't bother with a thank you, instead opting to simply pull the door open and see what was inside.

Not much, aside from rows and rows of uniforms on one side, and piles of cleaning supplies on the other. Ghirahim sniffed distastefully at the uniforms, a combination of green, silver and black, with a pair of shining black shoes to accompany it. Ghirahim huffed to himself for a bit, eyes narrowing in disgust; not only at his new clothing, but at the whole situation.

"Of all the people in this bloody town," he muttered exasperatedly, "why was _I_ caught? _How_ did that happen?"

He paced up and down the length of the room –which wasn't that great a distance- he pushed back the awful stinging, instead cursing under his breath and blaming everyone and everything under the sun for his misfortune.

"Having to smile for that pretentious idiot and his son," he seethed. "Making us all slave away in this rotten place. Demise better have a good reason for not sending help by now."

Not that he needed it, of course. Ghirahim was sure he could find some way to get out of his current predicament, without having to rely on another scruffy, inexperienced brat. It didn't look like one was coming soon, either.

So with a last resigned sigh, he undressed himself. He hissed as he dabbed at the cuts he'd received with one of his cape's ends. After the blood had mostly dried, Ghirahim folded up his old clothes and pulled on his new white shirt, the unsightly crest of House Smith embroiderd onto it. A pair of black trousers with a long green stripe running along the length of the leg, black socks, and matching shoes that were a little too tight for Ghirahim's liking followed.

"A uniform. How degrading this is."

"When you're done complaining," a deep but soft voice interrupted, "I'd appreciate your help."

Ghirahim whirled on his heel with a sharp glare for whoever had spoken, coming to a halt with his fists clenched. No one eavesdropped on him! That was his own job, after all, and no one was better at it than he!

"What the hell are you doing?" Ghirahim demanded. The dark-haired boy shrugged, his sun-darkened skin contrasted with bright grey eyes. Dressed in the same uniform as Ghirahim and just as scrawny, this insolent teenager seemed to slouch where he stood, taking a bite from an apple while Ghirahim glared daggers at him.

"Like I said, I need some help," he said. "Are you going to help me, newcomer?"

That was the last straw for Ghirahim. "Who do you think you are, brat?"

"My name's Rynae," he replied evenly.

"That's not what I meant. Who are you to address me the way you are?"

"I'm just what you are, aren't I?" Rynae responded. "A street rat. I didn't get your name."

"Ghirahim," he spat. Rynae's eyebrows shot up.

"_That_ Ghirahim?" he asked, actually looking surprised.

"The one and only. It seems I have some sort of reputation."

"You stayed free for a year," Rynae reminded him. "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone who lasted so long out there. And now you're here."

"Well," Ghirahim said with a smile, revelling in the attention being given to him, "aren't you lucky?"

"I suppose I am," Rynae said with another shrug. He finished off his apple and grinned. "Didn't think the legendary Ghirahim had such a bad temper, though."

Before Ghirahim could rant any further, Rynae held up his hands in some gesture of surrender.

"Come on, Ghirahim. Let's not get off to a bad start, now."

Rynae pulled the door open and stepped outside. The smell of steaming vegetables and minced meat caused Ghirahim's stomach to growl in its cry for nourishment. Rynae noticed, looking over his shoulder with a wide smile.

"And let's get some meat on those bones of yours."

"… As if a little sprout like _you_ has any reason to say that."


	2. The Little Lord

**Two Swords Clashed**

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'msorry it took so long for me to get this up! I hope Christmas and New Years was a nice time for all of you! And now I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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><p><em>Chapter Two: The Little Lord<em>

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><p>"This certainly smells delicious," Ghirahim sighed. He held the silver tray carefully as he tried to find some way to ignore how stiff and uncomfortable his white shirt felt. Honestly, he was tempted to drop all that he was carrying by some 'accident' , but punishment wasn't exactly what he needed right now. In fact, all he really needed was to survive the rest of the day and tonight, he'd be out of this dreadful place in as much time as it had taken him to get here.<p>

"You're holding it like it's going to bite you," Rynae snickered.

Ghirahim tsked in annoyance, straightening his back and shaking his hair from his face with a practiced nonchalance.

In the time that they'd helped to prepare dinner –it turned out that cooking had a lot more to it than simply heating up ingredients and throwing them onto a plate- Ghirahim had learned a little more about Rynae and how he'd wound up here.

At fifteen years old, he'd been free for about five months -which wasn't too bad in Ghirahim's view- before being caught. He was now in the middle of his third month under House Smith. As a child with five other siblings and no father to help out, Rynae knew how to work his way around little children without a problem, including those in staff. His mother had naturally been furious with him for wanting to leave his family to take a chance at freedom, but Rynae went through with it anyways. It was during this time that he developed a fondness for wine, cider… anything that had the tiniest amount of alcohol in it was good enough for Rynae. It was the reason for his finding in the end, but he certainly didn't seem to regret a single drop.

They were making their way to what Ghirahim supposed could only be the dining hall with Lord Smith's dinner. Ghirahim and Rynae each carried a steaming bowl of stew under a silver cloche,, resting on a tray more decorative than the gilding on the mirrors lining the hallways. Two younger boys walked behind them, one with a pitcher of water and the other with a pitcher of red wine. The smells made Ghirahim's stomach knot and growl uncontrollably, causing Rynae to laugh at him again. Ghirahim scowled the rest of the way to the dining hall.

When they arrived, Ghirahim nearly dropped his tray in astonishment. The dining hall was perhaps the longest room in the entire place, and, as far as Ghirahim was concerned, the most impressive. The wooden table looked as if it had taken three of the largest trees of Faron Woods to craft. Chairs lined each side, with two larger ones on the ends. These belonged to, of course, Lord Smith and Link, who were seated and waiting somewhat vacantly for their meal. Lit solely by candles, the room was filled with a gold-orange glow. Long curtains covered the tall windows, blocking any natural light that may have entered. In the corner, a middle-aged man in uniform played his violin idly, solemn expression allowing for no sign of emotion.

"That's an _awful _ lot of chairs for just two people," Ghirahim remarked. Rynae gave him a scandalized look, pressing one finger against his lips as a way of telling Ghirahim to behave.

Link gave Ghirahim a small smile from his end of the table, and Ghirahim returned it without feeling as he made his way to where the blond sat. He glanced back over his shoulder at Rynae, who was laying out Lord Smith's dinner with practised ease. When Ghirahim reached Link, he bent low so that he could whisper something into the blond's ear.

"You should know that I really do _despise _people of your kind," he informed the young man, and Link lifted one eyebrow, shifting away a little. "But serving you your _food_? It really is more than I can bear."

He didn't let Link get a single word in, continuing in hushed, but venomous tones.

"I had to fight tooth and nail for every _scrap_ of food I ever wanted. When was the last time you had to work for something?"

Link stared at Ghirahim as if he were some sort of monster, actually looking threatened, for a moment. It was a good look on him, too. He opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him.

Ghirahim shrugged, and set Link's meal in front of him with a 'hmph'. He was about to straighten himself and walk away when Link took hold of his sleeve, looking up at Ghirahim intently. Ghirahim waited silently, resisting the urge to pull his arm away.

"Yes?" he asked, flicking a strand of hair out of his face to get a better view of the young lord.

"I want to talk to you," Link said, and Ghirahim blinked, hiding his surprise expertly.

"Well, I don't think that's a very good idea," Ghirahim said dismissively, in the hope that he could avoid a conversation.

Either Link wasn't listening, or he simply wouldn't take no for an answer. That wasn't surprising in the least. The rich always wanted things to go their way.

"When you finish your work tonight, find me in my quarters," Link ordered him. Ghirahim pulled his arm away and turned quickly from the young lord, rolling his eyes. Hadn't Link heard what Ghirahim had just said? He didn't want to make conversation with someone whose head was so far up their own-

"_Ahem_!"

The younger boy who'd followed him to where Link sat huffed impatiently, his glare directed at Ghirahim, who merely scoffed on his way past. Pushing the doors open, he strode out with as much arrogance as he could find in himself.

He found Rynae waiting for him outside, shaking his head disapprovingly but with the slightest hint of amusement in his grey eyes.

"Such bad manners," he admonished. "Though I won't say I'm entirely surprised."

Ghirahim rolled his eyes again, striding past contentedly. "Apparently, they weren't all that bad. The little lord didn't seem bothered by them at all." At least, not as much as Ghirahim would have liked.

Rynae followed him, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been invited to join him when we finish working today."

Rynae almost missed a step, gaping at Ghirahim. "You have? What did he say to you?"

"To join him in his quarters when I'm finished tonight," Ghirahim repeated. "Why are you so shocked, Rynae?"

"Link never invites anybody to his quarters," Rynae explained. "A real introvert, that one. He spends almost every moment he has alone, or with his little Remlit. I think it's called Cyra."

"That's interesting," Ghirahim replied simply. "But, I probably won't be meeting up with him tonight. Or ever again, if I'm extremely lucky."

Rynae lifted a dark eyebrow. "Why not?"

Ghirahim grinned. "I'll be expecting… a _visitor_, later this evening, and there's a chance I'll be out of this horrid place and back to my own life by midnight. That, and the fact that I don't think I'd enjoy a conversation with the Lonely Lord."

"I guess I'm missing out on something," Rynae said. "But it could be worth going to see Link. He's very quiet, nobody really knows him. In any case, Ghirahim, whoever that visitor of yours is must know what they're doing. Cause you know, not a lot of people get out. But you'll probably figure out something, am I right?"

"Of course I will."

"Well, if it works, be sure to let me know."

* * *

><p>Link ate in silence, mulling over what had occurred between himself and the new servant as his father stared at him with his steely eyes. He was looking forward to learning more about this strange new arrival who appeared to think very highly of himself. After a moment, Lord cleared his throat and spoke up.<p>

"What did that… Ghirahim… say to you?" he asked. Link blinked, debating whether he should tell a blatant lie or simply be honest. He decided on a white lie.

"He was explaining to me that he's rather upset over ending up in our humble abode," he answered. His father nodded curtly, his eyes suspicious.

"Be careful with people like that, Link... He's not our _type_."

"None of the servants are, father," Link pointed out.

"This one is a man to be extremely wary of," his father spoke right over him, as always. "I haven't heard a single good thing about him, and I'm not sure there is anything good about him."

"I see," Link said blankly, not interested in the least. Not a lot of things his father talked about ever did spark his curiosity.

He set down his fork and sat staring at his half-finished meal for a few minutes before pushing himself up out of his seat.

"I won't have dessert today," he said bluntly, making his way to the door closest to where he sat. He wasn't at all surprised to find on his heels, mewing as she wound herself around Link's ankles, nearly tripping him up. Link didn't wait for a response from his father before pushing the doors open and leaving.

He was nearing the final chapters of a fantastic book, after all, and he needed to finish some of it before… what was his name again..? Ghirahim, that was it. Before Ghirahim arrived to have a chat with him. He had a feeling that conversation with Ghirahim would be a lot more interesting than with his blank slate of a father.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim made a point of sighing loudly as Rynae led him to where he would be sleeping, his old clothes in hand. The visitor he'd been expecting still hadn't arrived. The whole thing was taking much too long for Ghirahim's liking. Worst of all, Rynae was starting to doubt his plan of escape really existed.<p>

"Just because he hasn't arrived," Ghirahim hastily assured him, "doesn't mean he _won't_. Maybe I will go and have a chat with Link, while I'm waiting for him. I imagine there isn't a lot to do for fun around here."

"You'd be right in thinking that," Rynae agreed.

"It seems I'll have to pay a visit to Link, then," Ghirahim said with a sigh. "It will either be the most boring experience of my life, or the most irritating."

"A lose-lose situation," Rynae remarked.

"I bet he's an airhead. And lazy, and arrogant, and stupid."

"Oh, he's all of those," Rynae confirmed with an amused smile.

"... Rynae, are you just agreeing with everything I'm saying?" Ghirahim asked.

"Your observational skills are quite sharp indeed," Rynae replied wryly, guiding Ghirahim around a corner. "You're being dramatic; go and talk to Link, though. It could be interesting."

Ghirahim ground to a halt, debating with himself. Rynae turned to watch him, waiting while he tapped his foot against the soft red carpet underneath them.

If Link was as arrogant as Ghirahim suspected he was, then their conversation could end with Ghirahim becoming immensely frustrated. If he somehow wasn't, then it could be very enjoyable. An unusual dilemma, he supposed.

"Oh, _fine_," he gave in. "You take my clothes, and I'll find my way back to you after I'm finished."

Rynae took the proffered clothes, smiling. "Kind of worn out, huh? Dunno why you'd want to hold on to these old things."

"How _dare_ you?" Ghirahim demanded. "Demise gave me these clothes! I'd like to see you insult him!"

"I haven't got a clue who Demise is," Rynae said with a shrug. "Was he looking after you or something?"

"Nobody looks after me," Ghirahim snapped immediately.

"You just rely on this guy to get your clothes for you, is it?"

"If you don't stop this, Rynae, I'm going to kick you."

"I'm stopping, I promise. Now go and find Link."

Ghirahim turned away and made his way back the same path he and Rynae had taken. En route to the entrance hall, he stopped occasionally to look at a piece of art or at a particularly appealing piece of gilding.

At one point, he came across a mirror that allowed him to admire his reflection in its full. Starting with the roots of his dirty white hair, he observed himself thoroughly, smiling at himself as he locked eyes with his mirror image. His expression hardened when he ran his eyes over his new uniform.

Oh, how he _hated_ these clothes! Stiff and uncomfortable and downright silly. Green was not for him. And the feeling of wearing shoes after so long was foreign and strange to him. He wriggled his toes, scrunching his face up into a frown.

"Oh, Ghirahim, you _woolhead_," he reprimanded himself. "You nicked the same amount of fruit from the same stall every day for the past year. And you let today be the day you were caught. I've never known anyone more foolish than you. And I know a fair amount of fools, too."

A guard watched him from his position about a foot from the mirror, cracking a smile at Ghirahim's monologuing.

"Quite the vain one, aren't we?" he asked with a grin.

Ignoring the guard, Ghirahim did a quick once-over of himself and finished with a resigned sigh. His reflection's sour expression offered nothing of any benefit, and so he moved swiftly onward. Not before another intervention, however.

"Just where is it you're off to, vanity?" the guard's gruff voice stopped Ghirahim in his tracks, as did the spear that now pressed against his torso.

"To visit Link," Ghirahim answered with his best smile.

"Ha! I'll see you in a minute, then, with a red bottom this time round! You, of all people, visiting Link? Good luck to you, son."

Scowling at the word 'son', Ghirahim tsked and brushed past the guard, who was still laughing to himself at his own musings.

"This place is definitely an excellent prison," Ghirahim remarked to himself, finally arriving at the entrance hall. "... But still a prison."

The security here was stronger, with guards placed at all angles and at every free space. One stopped him immediately, holding a spear inches from Ghirahim's throat, as had been expected. He was one of the ones from earlier, if Ghirahim remembered correctly.

"What do you think you're doing, you little scoundrel?" he demanded, leering down at Ghirahim.

"Relax, will you?" Ghirahim replied assuredly. "I'm on orders, as I understand it."

"Is that so? And tell me, what are you on your way to do?"

"If you must know, I've been instructed to go and talk to Link."

The guard frowned, as if he didn't understand what Ghirahim had said. Finally, he conceded with a simple, "I'll come with you."

Ghirahim made a noise of protest, but agreed to let the guard accompany him; it wasn't worth the argument. The stubborn idiot!

They walked quickly up the main flight of stairs before branching to the left. When they arrived on the first floor, lavishly decorated with yet more gilding and fancy carpeting, Ghirahim turned to look sideways at the guard.

"I can find my way from here, thank you," he said pointedly, and the guard sneered horribly at him. Turning on his heel, the man left Ghirahim alone.

Taking a look around, Ghirahim quickly found a pair of double doors at the end of the hallway, a guard posted on either side. Ghirahim stepped over to them, clearing his throat.

"What business do you have here, at this hour?" one of the guards asked shrewdly. Ghirahim raised his eyebrows in a show of slight offence.

"I'm _actually_ here to see Link," Ghirahim explained. "So if I could just slip past you there-"

"Don't push your luck, street rat," one of the guards sneered, shoving Ghirahim back with one strong hand on his shoulder. Ghirahim could only stare back in outrage.

"I'm telling you, Link ordered me to come and-!"

Suddenly the doors swung open. The two guards jumped aside to accommodate, and Ghirahim paused mid-rant to look at Link, who in turn was frowning at the scene before him. He held a thick leatherbound book in one hand, his coat from before abandoned and his shirt loosened.

"I _really_ don't appreciate all of the commotion," he said, to the guards, then turned his attention to Ghirahim with a small smile. "You may come inside now."

"Are you certain, my-" That was as far as the guard got before Link waved a hand in dismissal and Ghirahim scurried inside, a smug grin on his face.

He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fell on a massive four-poster bed, laden with heavy sheets and a ridiculous amount of cushions. That was where this little lord slept every night?! And Ghirahim didn't miss the doors on either side of the room; there was more!

He turned when the doors were closed and rid himself of his awestruck expression before Link could notice it, choosing to lift his chin and stare almost down his nose at the young lord. The sandy-haired male smiled at Ghirahim, setting his book down on an ornate chest of drawers as he moved to face Ghirahim.

"Well then..." he said warily, stretching out a hand. "You're Ghirahim, yes?"

"I am indeed," Ghirahim confirmed it, glancing down at Link's hand before turning to inspect the pair of doors behind him and leaving Link to withdraw his hand a little clumsily. "You've probably heard quite a bit about me, I suppose. And you, of course, must be Link."

"Of... of course," was all Link said, sounding somewhat perplexed. "I can't say I've heard much about you, actually, but I understand you're the newest member of our staff."

"Temporarily, yes," Ghirahim replied disdainfully. Link raised an eyebrow at that.

"Well, for quite a long stretch of time," he said matter-of-factly. "You're here for one year, I thought."

"Oh, I'm supposed to be," Ghirahim said, grinning slyly. "But I don't plan on staying for very long, not at all."

Link crossed his arms, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Oh, really? You're going to be killed if you try to escape."

"Is that what usually happens?" Ghirahim asked absently, placing his weight on his right foot and looking about at Link's bookshelves and decorative furniture. "Well, I imagine that I'll be just fine anyways. I can't imagine _you'd_ be too heartbroken by my loss either."

Link shook his head in what looked like disbelief. "Didn't you see how heavily guarded our land is on your way in?"

Ghirahim nodded, still smiling. Link, upon seeing his reaction, made a noise of irritation.

"Then, you should know that there's no way for you to get out of here."

"There's always _some_ way, always one."

"Not out of here, I'm afraid. Someone would find you."

"Oh, you narrow-minded little lord!" Ghirahim snapped, finally dropping his smile. "Don't you know even the slightest about how we poor folk go about things? We have to lie and cheat and worm about and be almost invisible in case your type step on us like little ants! You think I couldn't fight my way out?"

Link looked as if he'd received a hard slap to the face. He placed his hands squarely on his hips, looking at Ghirahim with frosty eyes.

"I could have you killed right now," he said simply. "I'd just have to shout and they'd come charging for you."

"You go ahead and do that," Ghirahim replied confidently, though in reality he knew he had to be careful. He was only teasing, for the moment. "I'd wriggle my way out of that one, too."

Link shook his head stubbornly, growing red in the face. "You'd never get out without being noticed; I hope you realise that you're at a complete disadvantage here."

Before he could think twice about it, Ghirahim had made his way to Link and grabbed the blond by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in so Ghirahim could tower over him.

"And I hope _you_ realise, you spoilt brat," Ghirahim began, "that I avoided the eyes of your father's guards for a _year_ before I was so much as _noticed_."

Link faced Ghirahim with his icy blues, a fierce frown plastered to his face so that he could glare furiously up at Ghirahim, who only lifted his eyebrows a fraction in return.

"I've outrun them, I've bested them in combat, and..." Ghirahim paused for dramatic effect, a malicious grin spreading over his face. "And I've _killed_ some of them, too."

At that, Link pulled himself out of Ghirahim's grip with none of the form or grace he had shown earlier, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He steadied himself, looking absolutely outraged. He pointed a finger to his door, his eyes trained on Ghirahim.

"Get out," he ordered. "Get out _now_."

The corner of Ghirahim's mouth curled into a smile as he noted the slight trembling of Link's finger with satisfaction. He held up his hands in mock defense.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, turning for the door. "I'll leave you alone, little lord."

Ghirahim paused mid-step, looking intently at Link with undisguised interest. The young lord stared sourly back, lips pinched in a nasty glower.

"How about we make a wager, just between the two of us?" Ghirahim asked, flexing his fingers in anticipation.

"What kind of wager are you talking about?" Link's voice was cautious; he was simmering.

"If I escape from here tonight," Ghirahim began, "you must promise to me thar you'll spend the rest of your days wondering how I did it and where I am and if I'm still plaguing the town with my bad habits. On the other hand, if I'm _not_ able to get out, then I will spend my year here attending to your every need with... a _small_ amount of complaint."

"You're very sure of yourself," Link remarked, still looking somewhat shaken.

"And why wouldn't I be sure?" Ghirahim demanded. "I'm one of the best there ever was. Now, do I have your word?"

Link pondered for a moment, chewing his lip. Then, finally, "You do."

"How nice," Ghirahim said with a grin. "Have fun trying to find me, won't you?"

Link said nothing, never looking away as Ghirahim strolled over to the door and opened them carefully.

"Pity we can't do this again sometime," Ghirahim said sarcastically. He received no response, aside from the slamming of Link's doors behind him.

"Well, _that_ was something."

He was once again on his way back to the servants' rooms, observing for the second time the finery and ignoring the guards' scrutiny. It was then that he heard a low whistle, loud enough that one or two of the guards noted it.

The guard closest to him gave Ghirahim a curious look, and so he made a point of keeping the same pace, pretending not to have noticed anything. On the inside, however, he was rejoicing.

Now, to find a way to get to his rescuer, that was the real problem.

However, it seemed that too had already been sorted for him. Another whistle, this one sounding like some kind of bird, came from further along the corridor. Ghirahim followed it,

glancing warily at the guards posted along the hallway. Another whistle, from around a right corner.

"Hey, where are you going?" a nearby guard demanded, striding over to Ghirahim, who stared back with as innocent an expression he could muster up.

"I was wondering, actually, where the bathrooms are?" Ghirahim asked calmly. "It's... an _emergency_."

The guard scoffed, looking about him exasperatedly. "I... Gah, follow down that corridor. Fifth room on your right. And be quick!"

"Of course, of course," Ghirahim replied amiably. "... Thank you."

Ghirahim took off down the corridor, making sure not to look back at the guard. Too easy, the poor fool.

He came to the bathroom, somewhat cramped but just as tasteful as the rest of the building. Ghirahim's eyes went for the windows, though, and he quickly perched himself on the edge of the seat, leaning over to inspect.

A few minutes of chipping at the wooden framing of the door produced a splinter of wood, and then it was on to picking. Not a problem.

Opening the window slowly, slowly, ever so carefully, Ghirahim finally had enough room to push himself out and onto the narrow windowsill. Before he moved out, he mimicked the whistle he'd heard earlier, hoping his finder could hear it from such a distance.

"Don't look down," he told himself quietly, firmly. He gripped the top of the windowsill for support, closing the window as gently as he'd opened it.

Climbing had always terrified him. But now was not the time for fear or worry , not when he was so close to escape!

And so he found his first niche, gripping tightly, and the process began.

As he'd hoped, years of weathering had worn holes and nicks of all sorts into the outside of the manor. It made the task a little less daunting for him, and so Ghirahim moved swiftly, sticking close to the wall and never looking back.

Until finally, finally he came to the roof top. Hanging on precariously, Ghirahim tried pushing himself up and instead found himself being pulled up by a strong pair of hands, hoisted up and dropped down next to his rescuer.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" Ghirahim demanded.

The young male balanced on his haunches had shining blue eyes that penetrated the darkness of the night. His skin was almost as pale as Ghirahim's, framed by a mass of long, red hair. He didn't seem to notice that it fell in disarray all over his shoulders and in front of his face, smiling warmly at Ghirahim. He stood up, balancing easily, and Ghirahim was dismayed to see that this stranger was taller than he. It wasn't all that much a difference, really, a few inches at most. But having to look up at this... inferior... was just disheartening.

"Hello to you too," he said cheerily. "I am Ardaia."

"I've never seen you before," Ghirahim remarked, none too friendly. He made a point of standing tall, adamant not to look down and panic.

"Well that does make sense," Ardaia replied. Ghirahim wanted nothing more than to slap him across the jaw. "I am from the Eldin region, where Lord Pipit rules."

Ghirahim made a 'hmph' sound - it explained the unusual manner of speech. "And you chose to come to this place? What, for all the _excitement_?"

"I wanted to be free, like everyone else," Ardaia said with a shrug. "It did not sound difficult at the time. My idea was to leave Eldin, spend a bit of time out in Hyrule Field, and then come to Faron."

"And you met Demise?" Ghirahim asked, trying not to let his jealousy show through his scowl. He already missed him. "You don't look like the kind of person he'd want on his side."

"Well, under all of these clothes, there is an awful lot of muscle," Ardaia said. "I _did_ manage to climb over the walls, you know."

"How?" Ghirahim demanded immediately. "There's guards all over the place. And that wall is thirty metres tall, if not taller. The only way to get in or out is the gate. So how did an amateur like you get in?"

"With a lot of difficulty," Ardaia grinned. "But I am not going to tell you; you have enough tricks up your sleeve to get by. Enough for a _year_, anyway."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Ah, I just find it funny that you could not stick it out for another day."

"Who do you think you are, Daia?"

"Ardaia. You know, I have a message to deliver, oh mighty one."

"Well then, do your job and stop wasting my time! How am I getting out of here?"

"You are not," Ardaia said simply. "Demise said that you are to stay here."

Ghirahim's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling open in an expression of his sheer disbelief. How dare this... this _nobody_, speak to him like that?!

"What did you just say?" he asked softly.

"That is what he told me. He said he has a plan."

Ghirahim took a deep breath, turning away for a moment to compose himself before spinning to face Ardaia again, who hadn't stopped grinning.

"If you're lying-"

"That is exactly what he said," Ardaia assured him. "I was sober when he told me, too."

"This is ridiculous!" Ghirahim stated, not caring that Ardaia was watching him lose his temper. "That man is going to drive me _insane_!"

"You know, everybody said that you were a scary person," Ardaia commented. "But you are almost like a child."

"I am most certainly not," Ghirahim snapped. "Why are you still here, anyway? You're going to get us both into a lot of trouble."

"Because_ I_ am making so much noise."

"Just go, would you?!"

Ardaia laughed again. "Alright, alright. I need to get a drink, anyways. I will deliver any messages Demise might have. I will talk to you soon, hopefully."

He turned away from Ghirahim, long hair swooshing about him as he did. Slowly and carefully, he began climbing down the side of the building and out of sight.

"Hopefully _not_," Ghirahim muttered. He had already made up his mind- he didn't like Ardaia. Much too happy-go-lucky and nonchalant and everything else Ghirahim hated in people.

"...Idiot."


End file.
